The Doctor's Daughter
by sevenleagues
Summary: Dressed as a boy and left with nought but one name- Jack Sparrow- Sophie must risk her freedom, her heart and her life to complete a vital and terrifying task.


Hi:) This is my first attempt at writing. Got to start somewhere right? I'm not sure how well this is going to go, stylistically I have no idea what I'm doing. It's feeling really uptight to me so far, I'll try to make it better as I go along. I'm hoping it'll loosen up as I get to know the characters and get used to the process. But right now, working on this will be my break in between science study.

This story takes place twelve to fifteen years before Curse of the Black Pearl. I will be combining two of Jack's earlier adventures into one plot. So here is the intro chapter. How does young Sophie Lawrence meet Jack? Guess you'll have to keep checking back to find out:P.

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**The Doctor's Daughter**

Chapter One.

Dr. James Lawrence, accomplished Bristol Physician, took off his reading glasses and surveyed his daughter as she knocked timidly at his office door. Sophie stood there respectfully, eyes cast towards the floor, the very picture of a shy, well bred young lady. The Doctor knew better. It seemed she had not given up after all.

"Father. Another … patient has stopped by." She paused, and looked up at him. Her serious, black eyes pleaded with him under furrowed, thick brows. Those eyes, so like her mother's, had often proved to be his undoing. She was a well enough girl, though certainly not beautiful. Her lips were wide, her figure slender. Her thin, brown hair was pinned into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Her small hands twitched nervously, clasped at the front of her stiff green gown.

"He came by the back entrance," she added in a softer tone.

He raised an eyebrow. "Another? Well then. I will attend to him in due course. Return to bed."

Sophie dropped her hands to her sides. "Actually, I was hoping…" She promptly abandoned her careful manner. "It's Teague! He's back with an associate- multiple cutlass wounds to the chest and back. I took them both down to the cellar; he's in a very bad way. As you are busy I must see to him. Do I have your permission?" Her eyes flashed and she spoke with strength. He would give in of course. After all, it was his fault, for _he _had given her the ability to heal.

The lessons had started innocently. A quiet, curious child, Sophie often questioned the Doctor's work. Thrilled to have such an eager student, he taught her anatomy, physiology, herbal lore- she absorbed knowledge like a sponge. Soon enough she was assisting him with patients- dressing wounds, applying salves, administering medicine and grinding herbs. Had he been paying more attention, he might have seen the warning signs- her endless patience and iron strong will. Instead, he felt pride. He encouraged her newfound passion. After all. Why could a woman not receive as good an education as a man? The knowledge would surely leave her in good stead- she could perhaps become a nurse, or a midwife.

His chief concern lay in respect to her contact with- men of questionable character. The first had arrived, suitably, in the early hours of the morning, in the midst of a fierce thunderstorm. Sitting up in bed, the Doctor had first assumed the thunder had woken him- however he was proved wrong, as the heavy thumping still persisted. Instantly stiffening, James slipped a pistol from his top drawer, pulled on a long dressing gown and sought the source of the noise. The back door shook, the hinges rattled and groaned- someone was pounding at the door desperately. Mouth grim, he slowly turned the handle.

To his surprise, the source of the banging was but a young lad. Leaning against his shoulder, rasping, was an older, taller man. Even in the dim glow of the lantern, his … profession was apparent. He was clad in an extravagantly buttoned coat and a neckchief of frothy lace. His breeches were though filthy, laced with ribbons. His hair was a dark tangle of knots and trinkets. His skin, though tanned and covered in soot was evidently flushed, his kohl lined eyes bloodshot. Even through the filth, it was evident that the pirate was unwell.

Crying out in relief, the lad had collapsed over the doorway in exhaustion, taking his charge down with him.

A brief examination confirmed that apart from minor bruising and a few shallow cuts, the boy was fine - merely exhausted and dehydrated. The man however had a deep slash running down his arm. Infection of the wound had caused a high fever. Without treatment, he had little hope of survival.

James faced a difficult choice. The crown did not favor those who came to the aid of villains. Were his assistance to ever be found out, he would be hung for healing the criminal. The man was a pirate. Yet he was also a man, and as such, he deserved treatment. The right path was clear. The doctor gave himself a short, decisive nod. Calling for the doorman, they had carried the unusual, unconscious patients through to his surgery.

When the pirate was well enough, he introduced himself as 'Captain Teague.' He had been in town on_ business_. Unfortunately, the transaction had gone awry, leaving him with the injury. Unable to find a doctor willing to treat a pirate, the wound had slowly festered. Fearing for his Captain, the lad dragged him to the nearest surgery, in the wild hope that he would be treated and not handed to the authorities.

To his own immense surprise, the doctor immediately took a liking to the pirate. Though a rough villain, the man was clearly intelligent and fair. He spoke of his travels, told tales of marvelous adventures, exotic lands and fantastic treasures. They were of a similar age, and talked easily. Like James, he had lost a wife and was left with one child. It was with a twinge of regret that he said farewell his new friend- however, he knew that they would meet again. For the Captain and the Doctor had come to an agreement. James would set up a secret infirmary in the cellar where he would tend to all rogues, thieves, beggars and pirates in need of help. The pirates of the Brethren Court would provide the needed funds.

Sophie was five at the time. The Doctor was afraid that his choice would negatively influence her, and did his best to keep her away. The Pirates entered the house through the back door, in the dead of night. He forbid her from entering the cellar. This was not wise, as it only served as fuel for her insatiable curiosity. He would often catch the tip of her head, or the corner of her dress peeking out from behind a bureau beside the cellar stair- she liked to hide and watch him enter and exit, in the hope of picking up a small clue.

The inevitable occurred on a warm summer evening. Returning from an unexpected house call, he first headed to the secret ward to check on a reset bone and a delirious beggar. Teague had again stopped by on his way through the port, and the doctor looked forward to speaking to him. As he entered the room, his eyes widened. Sophie sat next to the Captain on a worn sofa. Head tilted, she seemed intrigued and enchanted by his pirate friend.

'And then,' said Teague in a whisper, 'he hung himself upside down from the branch. The ghost king walked underneath. Without the specter's notice, the lad swiped the crown right from his head and ran off into the night.'

She folded her arms. 'Ghosts don't exist Captain.'

He lowered his voice mysteriously. 'I assure you they do lass. Seen one with my very own eyes.' Teague smiled as she gave a small gasp.

The doctor cleared his throat. Sophie jumped and averted her eyes guiltily. He could not have hidden this from her indefinitely, James thought. It would not be fair to chastise her for disobedience. 'Get up to bed Sophie. Captain Teague can finish his story tomorrow.'

She looked up at her father, surprised. 'Really?'

James sighed. 'Yes dear.'

She ran off.

Teague chuckled. 'She's a nice lass. Takes after you. I thought I'd tell her about my Jackie.'

'Ah,' James had said.

And so, his girl became friends with the pirates. Over the years, her medical prowess increased, as did the number of pirate patients. More and more frequently he found himself turning away ordinary customers to tend to those below. Eventually he had no option but to ask for her assistance.

'Sophie. Mr Murtog downstairs is in need of a bandage change. Could you take care of it?' 'Would you mind treating Captain Pearce for his burns?' At seventeen years old, she knew all he had to teach. He could no longer think of an excuse to keep her from his secret charges. He simply did not have the time to care for both the rogues and the respectable. His daughter had ability and skill to match his. Reluctantly, he had left the brunt of the duty to her. She of course accepted the challenge with enthusiasm.

But worry constantly gnawed away at his heart like a weevil. Most of the passing pirates were good at heart. Grateful for the help of the quiet, serious girl, they treated her with respect. James had watched her tend to them- they enjoyed her company. Not for the appeal of appearance or entertainment- for she was not the engaging sort. It was because she listened, he thought. She listened to their woes and their stories. As such, they told her of adventures, news, treasure, their loved ones. Occasionally however, a pirate of quite another sort would drop by. These men were not converted sailors or gentlemen of fortune. These pirates knew nothing of compassion or honor. They sought not freedom, nor treasure, but blood. Vengeance. Fear and pain. They spoke to no one and eyed all with suspicion. Around these men, he feared for her safety. Furthermore, if she were to be caught by the crown, she would face certain death. So, It had been a relief to say the least when the gossipy sister of his wife had remembered her long forgotten niece. Shocked by Sophie's lack of suitors, Aunt Anne had whisked her away to London.

For two years his daughter had written regularly. He learned to look forward to the sound of the mail boy's bell. After taking the post, he would settle into his favorite armchair by the fire and read her letters, often with a smile or a chuckle. She made no secret of her distaste for her new life.

'_Dear father,_

_This week I have done naught but stitch and dance with fools. _

_Your daughter.' _

His eyes sparkled as he read. He was fond of his daughter, and her succinct, quiet way of speech. She had a peculiar way of stating the obvious in few words. Despite her displeasure he was glad she was out of harms way. With any luck a suitable young man would be found for her. She would settle in town, have children and live a happy life, far away from the rogues and danger.

Her last letter had arrived just the week before last.

'_Dear father,_

_Aunt Anne rejoices for she has at last found me a respectable young man. We do not have much in common. Despite this, I am glad, for at last we are bound for home. My fiancée follows behind with his mother and father- they wish to make your acquaintance and discuss marriage arrangements. _

_Your daughter.' _

Reading this, he had given a relieved smile. Finally, a match. He had found himself worrying that no gentleman would ever want her hand. It was not that she was unlikable, or her looks were not pleasing. It was her shy manner, he supposed. There was something… cold and serious about her. A polite air of 'please, leave me to my own.' warned most people to keep their distance. But now, all he had hoped for her would be possible. He frowned. Entertaining company was not something he relished. However, preparations were made. Maids scampered around the house, dusting, polishing and sweeping. The Doctor himself dressed in his best waistcoat and breeches, and even reluctantly donned a fashionable wig.

At evening's break the company arrived in a fine carriage. First to climb out was a tall, ginger headed man of perhaps twenty. The suitor, he presumed. Stumbling slightly, he courteously held open the door. The young woman who emerged after him little resembled his Sophie of two years prior. She wore her fashionable apple green gown stiffly, uncomfortably. Her hair was tightly coiled back and her face was made up. She started as her fiancée offered her his hand, yet gingerly took it. She looked a fine woman. Just as he had hoped.

Yes. He had hoped. He had hoped that the years in London would tame her intellect, discourage her from obscurity- mould her into the typical role of a woman. He had hoped that she would grow tired of the medicine, forget her past acquaintance with the pirates. But no. Underneath the pretty dress and shy manner, that willful streak was still evident. Not five minutes after escaping the dining table, she had gone to the surgery and answered the door. And then she had sought him in his study. Now she stood before him, pleading with him, the twin of her mother. He exhaled deeply.

"Please father, the man is dying."

How could he refuse? The Doctor looked down, defeated. 'Very well. Make sure your Aunt and Fiancée do not hear of this.'

Breathless, Sophie thanked him, turned and ran from the room.

Sophie smiled at the familiar sound of the stairwell- she heard her footsteps echo around her as she ran down the first flight, to the general surgery. She reached the small stone back room, and lifted the trap door. A flicker of light from below told Sophie that Captain Teague had already begun. She entered and hastily locked the door, then moved opposite the Captain at the bench. She mirrored his pose, leaning over the injured young man to examine the wounds. His torso was a disfigured web sharp red gashes. Teague had already cut away his garments and disinfected the surrounding skin.

'There is dirt and tar in these,' she muttered softly as she looked. 'And threads of cotton from his shirt.' She bit her lip. His colour was pale. The man was loosing much blood in little time. The bleeding could only be staunched after the wounds were clean. Due to the depth and extent of the injury, the cleaning alone might not be achieved before he bled dry.

'I'll fetch the usual?' She heard Teague enquire.

'Please.' He swiftly set the bowl and silver implements beside her. She chose a small pair of tweezers and began to tediously remove each visible grain of dirt.

Sophie started as the man began to stir- he groaned and writhed in pain. She cringed, but did not look up from her task. She could not waste any time. The sailor would have to bear the pain.

'Teague. Rum. And hold him down,' she ordered calmly. It must have worked, for soon she felt the man grow limp. A little while after, she smiled and set down her tweezers. She mixed and applied salve to the wounds, then wrapped him with bandages.

Exhausted, she sunk onto an old sofa, then surveyed the room. The twenty narrow beds lined up in a row- the big mahogany closet pressed up against the stone wall. Behind the doors it was filled with little treasures- bandages, tar, dried plants, foul smelling exotic powders, finely polished silver implements. A burnt writing desk, a firm granite bench. Candles hung from the ceiling, cloaking the room in soft glow. The walls were papered with foreign writings, strange codes. A Chinese map, a picture of an oddly shaped key. An elephant tusk, and a turtle shell. Just as she had left it. She turned her gaze to the Captain. He too, had not changed. She had not expected him to have. A strange, timeless quality hung over him like a shroud. His lined features, deep eyes, and lithe form were exactly the same as they had been 15 years prior, when they had first met. And as always, he fetched a wooden guitar from the corner of the room, unconsciously plucking it with his leathery hands.

Sitting down beside her, the Captain smiled. Warmth did not quite reach his eyes. 'You're a lady.' His tone was polite. But she could detect disapproval.

Sophie was not quite sure how to reply, being shy by nature. But she had missed the Pirate while away.

'I suppose so, yes,' she said quietly.

'Men have been turned away. This place needed you.' You've neglected us, she interpreted. Sophie thought his unspoken accusation unfair. It had not been her choice to leave.

'I did not wish to be away,' she mumbled, scuffing the floor with her shoes.

'Ah,' replied the pirate. He paused. 'You're to be married, I hear.' The disapproval again.

Sophie felt angry. What had the Captain expected of her? Did he think she could stay here, stitching up pirates for life? If it were possible, she would have jumped at the chance. A life without restrictions, without falsities, discrimination, injustice- this was what she desired. She wished for freedom, for the ability to work her trade with neither judgment nor mockery. She had been lucky enough to be doing what she loved in the cellar since childhood. But now, it was over. She was unfortunately, a woman. A woman of an at least outwardly, respectable name. Women could not become doctors. As such, marriage was expected of her. There would be no more doctoring. No more listening to scallywags and no more learning of the world.

'Yes. I am engaged.' She did not like this discussion. Her fate was to marry. She was fortunate. Many of her peers had already been long married and to men twice their ages! Her suitor was kind, and while a perhaps little dull, at least roughly her equal in years. Nothing could be done. She would miss this life dearly, but could see no escape.

She rapidly trawled her mind for a new thread of thought, eager to switch to a less painful subject.

'How's Jack?' She enquired politely.

He snorted. 'Got himself banished from Shipwreck Cove. Broke the code. The fool.'

Sophie smiled secretly – she had heard this tune many a time, and knew that behind the rough insults and condemnation, the Captain was actually very proud of his son. For out of all the tales he had told her as a child, those featuring the mischievous boy named Jack were recalled with the most relish and recounted with the most creativity and vigor. For this reason, these stories had been her favorite. She had liked to watch the old pirate's features brighten. His hands would swoop around and gesture wildly. His voice would mimic, twitter, snarl, rumble, hiss and boom.

'Oh,' she said. This news did not surprise her. From what she knew of Jack Sparrow, she gathered him the type to have little care for any custom.

On the bench, the sailor lad stirred and moaned. He needed more alcohol for the pain. Jumping, the girl grabbed a cloth and made to attend to him.

The soft sound of the guitar abruptly halted. 'Just don't loose yourself lass,' she heard Teague murmur.

'How?' She whispered. _I'm walled in. Stuck. _

'Follow your instincts. They'll lead you right.' Swinging the guitar back to his lap, he continued his calm playing. Sophie watched him, smiling. She knew the conversation to be over. His ancient eyes were peacefully closed, and his lips slightly inclined at the corner. Lost inside the sound. He would pay attention to naught else that night. She returned to her patient.


End file.
